Our footfalls break the stillness as we step from path to bridge, led by signs mapped out in twigs and fallen branches gathered by small hands. As we stroll the sun catches exposed trunks where fungus blooms with soft strange beauty all its own; whilst in the shade oozing mud awaits a careless slip from wooden logs, that serve as smoothed down stepping stones.
From woodland route the earthen path transforms itself to rutted gravel; cracked and scared by frequent rain. A scattering of wild flowers straggle their way along the verge and unseen birds sing warning chimes somewhere beyond the hawthorne hedge. And now we take the grassy track, mown flat across a grazing field; where doe eyed cows of every hue stare soulfully into middle distance, chewing on cud and dreaming their bovine dreams.